


Do not Stumble

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Dumbledore, Blood Magic, Character Death, Dark Harry, Multi, War, servitude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, Harry Potter's dead. Possessed by Voldemort, unable to handle the strain. That's the story everyone believes anyways. He is alive, and perhaps a bit angry at being betrayed. Ah, what's a boy wonder to do? (the sequel to the story: Hit the Ground Running by the user Tozette on ff.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, this is the sequel to the story: Hit the Ground Running by the user Tozette, who has given me permission to write this. You don't NEED to read their story to understand what's happening, but I'd do it anyways.   
> I hope you enjoy it. I'm moving all my stuff from FF.net to here, so this might be a little....not the best quality at the moment, and I'm sorry for that.

It had been three years, from the day the Centaurs clawed him out from the suffocating underground.   
Two years and nine months since Tom Riddle, had been resurrected.   
Two years and seven months since the day Tom Riddle changed his name to Thomas Gaunt and Harry Potter changed his name to Michel Fawley.   
Two years and one month since Thomas Gaunt had made his presence known, to a few select Death Eaters. They mostly accepted him as their master, finally returned to them, but others decided that he was lying and fought against him. They were all killed, and their bodies placed on display, but unrest and disloyalty remained an issue.

Tom and Michel moved into an old Fawley manor where the Malfoy's visited quite often. Michel decided against returning to Hogwarts, a decision supported wholly by Tom, and instead was home schooled by Narcissa. He was progressing greatly, and was already doing fourth year theory by the time he was thirteen and a half.

Tom disclosed to no one who Michel really was, not willing to risk the chance of Dumbledore finding out, however Michel told Draco, and after a few months of cold shouldering Draco accepted it, and the two remained friends. Tom, to this day, pretends he doesn't know.

-February 19th, 1995-

It was Michel's made up birthday, and Tom decided to throw a party. The fourteen year old wizard, was uncomfortable with the many people who came to speak with him. He greeted them with a charming smile, just as Tom taught him. Kissed the ladies hands, tilted his head to the men, pretended to be interested in their lives. He was starting to get bored of the conversation of politics, but acted as if it was the most amazing thing in the world. When one person became too exuberant he would politely excuse himself, telling them he needed to speak to the other guests. "It's unfortunate, but I don't want to be rude." He said, every single time. 

He didn't see the need for such an extravagant gathering when they just had one for Tom the 31st of December. Who would have thought the Dark Lord would have enjoyed parties as much as he did. But he didn't say anything, truth be told, if it wasn't for how many people wanted to crowed around him, he'd be having a grand time. 

Tom caught his eye and waved him over. Michel sighed in relief and excused himself from having to speak with the horrid woman who was currently taking up all of his time. He walked to Tom with confidence. "Lord Gaunt." He greeted him with a dip of his head and cool eyes.

"Yes, Michel, I would like to introduce you to Lord Eremurus Parkinson. I believe you are the same age as his daughter?" Tom placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, turning him towards the stranger. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you my lord." He said with cool eyes, but still attempting to seem friendly. The constant balance was hard to maintain. 

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Fawley." The man said. He was tall and slender with graying black hair and a clean cut face. His brown eyes showed inelegance and power. He was sizing Michel up, deciding if he was worth attention.

"Lord Parkinson is one of the leading supporters to our cause. I would very much like it if you would get to know him." Tom gave him a meaningful look that said 'make him your ally,' and Michel would comply. Tom excused himself to speak with the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, leaving his ward to his own devises.

"So, I hear you've made quite the name for yourself, Mr. Fawley." The man said, looking his nose down on him.

"Ah, I only do what I must, I assure you my lord, I am not that impressive." He laughed softly, as if Parkinson was making a joke.

"Well, Our Lord, seems to think much of you." The way he stressed 'Our Lord' was as if he was speaking of the second coming of Merlin himself. Michel concluded that he was one of the few to be trusted amongst Tom's ranks.

"Yes, I suppose so." Michel pushed back his long, straight, black bangs out of his face, and fixed his eyes intently on him. "Were you invited to the after party?" He asked innocently.

"I was. I assume, you'll be there as well?" He confirmed. Michel nodded, and soon after the two parted ways not seeing any more need to converse.  
\-------  
Michel stepped off the floor when a dance started, and couples swayed with the music. He unconsciously brushed his fingers across his hidden scar when he felt Tom's annoyance. Michel looked for him, and had to hold in his laughter, upon seeing that he was dancing with Undersecretary Umbrige in all her bright pink glory. Tom looked over at him and glared. Hard.

Michel excused himself to the dinning tables and sat alone. He didn't want to talk to anyone for awhile, it was becoming overwhelming. He looked up in surprise when he caught sight of Sullivan Nott, Theodore's father. He was an old man, almost seventy years. He had fought alongside Tom during the first war. When Tom had made his first appearance to his followers, he had been one of the people to recognize him right away, seeing as they went to school together. He was another of the few who could be trusted. It was strange though, that he was making an appearance at such a public event. He didn't often, he wondered if maybe he should feel honored. He watched the man from across the room, flirt with Narcissa Malfoy.

She seemed to be amused by the old man, if not a little irritated. He decided to save the poor woman, who had helped him so much. Approaching her, he bowed low, and held out his hand. "Lady Malfoy, may I please, have this dance?" He smirked when she placed her hand in his. He led her slowly to the dance floor.

A simple waltz, something every boy his age was expected to know. "How is your family, Lady Malfoy."

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Fawley." She said as they turned.

"I trust Draco's doing well in his schooling?" He asked, trying to be polite.

"Yes, very well, he's almost at the top of his year." She said proudly.

"Well, then please give him my congratulations." He smiled up at her, and then chuckled lightly, when looking behind her shoulder.

"May I ask why you're laughing?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Poor Severus seems to have a fan." He spun her around so she could see the fussy woman fawning over the annoyed potions master. She let out her own laugh.

"Will you be saving him tonight, as you did me?" She asked raising a light eyebrow.

"No, let him wallow in his misery." The dance came to an end and the two bowed to one another. She walked off to join her husband, who was speaking with a few ministry workers and business men.

\-----

After the party was over Tom hunted him down and ordered him to make his way to the meeting room. When he was sure that no one was looking he ducked into the backroom. One by one, Tom's minions filed in, five minuets after the other. Then last, Tom walked into the room. Radiating power, commanding respect, inspiring fear. He walked to the front and slowly sat in his throne.

"Friends, I'm so glad you could be with me today, to celebrate Mr. Fawley's birthday." He began, opening his arms wide to address the room. A few nodded, some wished him happy birthday, most stayed silent. "We have a few matters to address tonight, beginning with, Lucius. How goes the negotiations with the Ministers of France, Ireland, and Russia?" He asked, leaning his head against the palm of his right hand, acting as if conversing with his followers was bellow him. 

The blond aristocrat stepped forwards and bowed to his master. "Ireland has decided that they will remain neutral until the plague in their own country is dealt with. France remains with the light, as we expected. However Russia has agreed to lend their full support. We expect Belarus and Belgium to fallow after them." He said all of this, without pausing to take in air. Tom looked annoyed at first, then satisfied.

"Kill the French minister and his family, including his young children, then ask again. Let's hope for their sake they do not deny us." He ordered. The Malfoy patriarch nodded and receded back into line.

"Parkinson? Tell me about your progress in recruiting." He ordered.

The man pulled a very large stack of documents out of his coat pocket (thank Merlin for expansion charms). "Very well indeed My Lord." He said, handing them to Tom.

"What is this?" He asked, flipping through them.

"The name, address, and closest family members of every last person who has agreed to join your cause. A magically binding contract that states if they betray you then the people they wrote down will die, then a few days after they will fallow." He looked proud of himself. He cast a look at Lucius that seemed like he was gloating. "There are two thousand one hundred three and twenty seven people who have signed them from all over the word. That's more then two thirds of wizarding Britain."

Tom grinned wildly at him. "Very good work indeed, you will be rewarded generously." The man thanked him and stepped back into line. Tom looked around the room, until his eyes landed on Michel. He gestured for the fourteen year old to come closer.

"Most of you by now, must have met Mr. Michel Fawley, I'm sure." He stood and rested a hand on Michel's shoulder. "Well then my friends, I would like to formally introduce you to him." He stood up and put both of his hands on Michel's shoulders, standing behind him. Tom held him in place, and made sure that all eyes were on them. 

"One day, I'm going to be king, and every king needs an heir." Tom said, his voice a long slow hiss that tickled the ears of his followers, and none were sure if it was meant to be unpleasant or not. "Meet him, the heir to my legacy, your prince of darkness." He smirked at the murmurs ringing around the room. Some angry, most confused. The looked at Michel like he was a slab of meat. They saw a weak child who was going to be easily taken advantage of. Knowing so or not, Tom had placed a huge red target, right on Michel's back. 

The people in the room didn't bow out of respect to their new prince, they bowed because the Dark Lord had ordered them too. They still were sizing him up. There was no one he could trust there, none who could be called an ally. 'Damn' Michel thought. 'I better start locking my door at night. '

\--------

"I didn't appreciate that." Michel said, after everyone had left. Tom fixed him with an amused stare and rolled his eyes.

"You don't much appreciate anything do you?" He opened the next page in his news paper, not acknowledging Michel's annoyance or worry.

"You could have warned me, I was completely unprepared." Michel argued, sitting in the chair across from Tom.

The Dark Lord looked at him, but expressed no apology. "You did fine, no one said anything about you acting poorly."

"Because you would have cursed them." He said in indignation.

"Be that as it may, I could hear the way some of them spoke about you. You're a new challenge, learn to command their respect." The man turned away from him and opened his paper once more, content to ignore his ward.

"But what if-"

"Go to bed, there is no cause for worry." Tom ordered him sternly. Michel sighed in defeat and walked out of the room, not even remotely convinced that he was safe. 

He walked down the hall way, wishing he could pull of his robes, that felt way to tight around his throat. He all but ripped off his tie and shoved it in his pocket. 

Rounding a corner, he saw two of Tom's men talking in the hall. They stopped immediately when they saw him and bowed low, with mutterings of 'your grace' and 'young master.' Michel rolled his eyes and walked past them, making sure that he could at least, sort of see them. 

He entered into his room and flopped down on the bed. He didn't feel ready for that. He wasn't. He couldn't. How in Merlin's name was he going to 'command the respect' of Tom's followers? Of murders and rapists? People who spent their lives, from early childhood, learning to manipulate everything to their own whims. "I'm screwed." 

With and un-easy mind he fell asleep, mercifully he had no dreams that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently, being The Dark Lord's heir, was far more difficult then Michel had expected. It had only been ten days, and already he was being thrust into the world of politics and cut throat reality. Tom, wasn't sparing any of the harsh details, even if the 14 year old protested. Michel had only a day ago over seen an execution of an enemy.

"You need to learn how to keep your emotions locked away." Tom said, while he tried to comfort the boy in his room. That was something far easier said then done. "This won't be the last time you'll have to order the death of another."

That hadn't done anything to calm him down. Despite Tom's best efforts, Michel sat with his knees drawn up to his chest for the rest of the day. He couldn't eat or sleep, he just kept his eyes focused on wall in front of him. 

\-------

At the present time, Michel sat in the library with Lady Malfoy. She was a strict teacher, but very fair, and very wise. She had assigned him some reading, when she saw how distraught the boy was. He was tucked away in an arm chair by a lit fire, keeping his arms warm.

"Lady Malfoy...?" He put the book down in his lap.

She looked up from whatever it was she was doing upon being called. "What is it my young prince?"

"Please don't call me that...just call me Michel." He insisted.

She seemed unsure. "Very well then, what is it?"

"Why is The Dark Lord putting on such a show for the light? They already know of his return, they're actively trying to raise awareness, so then why...?"

"There are many that still believe he is gone. There are also some that are trying to hide his existence from the public. I believe it vexes him." There was a small fire of mischief in her eyes. "Like a child, he will not be ignored." She blushed and seemed to remember her position, putting her hands in her lap, she returned to the cool attitude as before. 

"But people are being killed, left and right, who in their right minds-"

"Those who do not wish for our lord to be back, refuse to believe it is true."

"That's very foolish."

"Please continue your reading." She said sharply, ever the strict teacher. It was obviously the end of the conversation, and so Michel returned to his history book.

Lady Malfoy was a far better history teacher then Binns. Far more interesting, and seemingly completely up to date, while the Hogwarts teaching was stuck on the same moment in history since the late 1800's. She made history seem, almost adventuress. Every day he learned something new, and his notes proved it, even if she was a bit of a slave driver when it came to homework.

Every few minutes or so Michel would look up, and see Lady Malfoy reading a book of her own silently. Her long blond hair draped around his shoulders like curtains of gold, and her frosty blue eyes moving rapidly across the pages. While she might not have know that he was indeed Harry Potter, he couldn't help but feel close to his lovely cousin, who was more of a mother to him than anyone else had ever been.

He thought from time to time, that the Malfoy family had guessed who he was, but didn't have any proof. Or they suspected, but would never say so. He liked to think that they could see the ghost of young Harry Potter, deep inside the new blue eyes of Michel Fawley. But he believed that was only wishful thinking.

When he was finished with his lesson he returned the book to Lady Malfoy's hands. "Have a good evening My Lady." He said with a light bow, before excusing himself from the room.

"Good night..." She said, looking him over.

\--------

Michel looked into the mirror and saw a stranger. Black hair and dark blue eyes, the trade mark look within the Fawley family. Even so, Michel knew who this boy really was. A frightened orphan, who was rescued from his muggle relatives by the Malfoy family. Harry Potter, who had died, three years ago due to the tragic possession of Lord Voldemort. Looking at himself now, he wouldn't be able to tell, who he once was, but it was all he had been able to think about for a long while. He brushed some of his shoulder length hair out of his eyes and sighed. It was better this way. He didn't want to return to the weak person he had been before anyways. 

He turned from the mirror and jumped ten feet in the air, when he saw Thomas Riddle sitting on a chair by his bed.

"Feeling a bit nostalgic are we?" The Dark Lord asked, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand.

"Just a bit." Michel said, with his hands folded in front of him. He sat in the across from him, a table in between them. A few cups of tea appeared before them.

"How have your lessons been with Lady Malfoy?" He asked before taking a sip of his tea.

"Just fine." Michel said shortly, not touching his drink. 

"Alright, what's the matter now?" Tom asked, slightly annoyed.

"It's nothing, I'll be fine, trust me." Michel said, with a sigh.

"It's not healthy for you to be keeping all your thoughts bottled up like this, please be more considerate of your station."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"How can a ruler, lead his people when he can't even keep his own head in order."

"Are you trying to play therapist, Tom?"

Tom smirked at him, and reached into his robe, pulling out a small black book. He set it down on the table and looked at Michel expectantly. "Well...take it!" He said impatiently.

"It's a journal." He said, turning it over a few times. "Why are you giving me this?"

"Why do you think Michel? Well...for a bit of irony yes but also, so you can find a healthy outlet for all those thoughts swimming around in your head." He seemed rather pleased with himself. When Michel accepted his gift, he stood with no further words and left the room, not even turning around, leaving behind his cup of half finished tea. 

Michel flipped through the book, and wondered if it was worth it. After a short while, he closed it and threw it on his bed, undecided. "Thanks I guess." 

\----------

He was sitting at the dinner table, with several other people who ranked high enough in Tom's 'court.' He was sitting directly to Tom's right side, showing his new 'royal' status. On Tom's left side, sat a man by the name of Cadler Nott, a cousin or something of the current Nott patriarch. He just so happened to be, Thomas Gaunt's highest ranking Death Eater. He was also an awful human being, but that was more personal then anything.

Sitting next to that man was Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, and her brother in law. They were the next three in the ranking. Sitting after them was a Russian man, whose name Michel had never bothered to learn, then after him sat Lucius and the whole Malfoy family. Last, sitting directly next to Michel was Severus Snape, who in all the years, had not changed in the slightest. He was a moody bastard, who seemed content to cause everyone around him misery.

As it turned out, rather surprisingly, Snape had returned to his master's side, but had been demoted, to the lowest in the Inner Circle of Death Eaters. But he didn't seem to mind. Apparently, he had found out that Dumbldore had murdered Harry Potter, and had turned on the old man so fast the world's head spun. It was rather dramatic

Tom stood when the main course was served. "Attention, if you will." He said, tapping his glass lightly with his fork. Everyone stopped talking almost the second Tom was on his feet. "It's been two and a half years, and we've already made great progress in Europe. Many of our enemies are no more, and we come closer and closer to our goal of turning the world back to the old ways. Where our magic may be practiced without limitations and where we are no longer bending to the will of the muggles." 

There was light clapping from around the table upon Tom's declaration. "So my friends, please, eat and drink to your hearts content, for tomorrow we fight the battle, that shall decide the out come for this war." All the men in Tom's court rose to their feet and cheered, sitting back down and the feast began.

Michel...wasn't sure what to think about it. About them winning the war. It seemed that the light had been loosing battle after battle for almost four months, but they didn't give up. But he knew, that if the Death Eaters were successful in claiming the ministry, and killing the minister, it would sway the fence sitters to come over to their side, and then they would have won in everything but on official papers. It would be the real end to a war that lasted almost three decades.

He turned to Snape, in the hopes of finding a conversation partner. "Professor, I hear that you have discovered a new and improved brewing method for Wolfsbain, please tell me about it." Michel said, politely.

The unfriendly potions master spat at him to mind his own business, 'no disrespect meant, my prince.' Which was code for 'F off.' But there was no one who was every going to say that to him, not in Tom's presence anyways. So much for 'commanding respect.' 

The rest of dinner continued with polite chatter, and Michel making sure only to speek when spoken too, rather put out by Snape's scathing tone.

"How has he been progressing in his studies, Lady Malfoy?" Tom asked suddenly, looking at Draco's mother with a small smile.

"Very well My Lord, he's easy to teach, and his practical work is phenomenal." She said back curtly.

"I very much appreciate you helping him, when you already have such a busy schedule."

"It's not very hard to find time My Lord. It's no trouble at all."

Tom raised his glass and smiled at her, approvingly.

Michel looked across the table at Draco, who was hardly eating a bite of his food, with his hands in his lap. "I hear....that you're almost the top of your class in Hogwarts." He said. 

A few people stopped what they were doing to watch them. Draco looked surprised, but nodded. "Yes, I'm second. There's this dumb mudblood brat who beat me by .6 points. Not even a whole percent." He said, with an annoyed drawl. He rolled his eyes. "But it's fine, if you ask me. She doesn't sleep much, all she does is study, and she has no friends. I, on the other hand, spend maximum five hours studying a week, I play quditch, and I'm acquaintances with most of my house mates, and a few Ravenclaws." He smirked at Michel, not intending to anger or disrespect him. "So, my prince, I have to say she's a far cry from my abilities." 

Michel laughed, some things would never change. "That's beautiful." He said, his shoulders still shaking. 

Tom scolded him lightly. "It's un-befitting for a prince to make fun of young girls. However funny it may be." 

"But she's a mu-" 

"Yes Michel she is, and it's disgusting. You need to hold yourself above her. Take Lucuis for example, he knows that he's of a higher standing then mudbloods, but he doesn't actively think on it." He gestured to the man, who was puffing up proudly. 

"Think of it this way, my prince. When he walk down the street and see an ant, you don't stop to think abut it. Why should you? You don't need to remind yourself that you're above it, you know it already. You don't even think about ants at all, unless you see one or it becomes a nuisance." 

"But...ants are pests." 

"And so are mudbloods." 

–----

The next morning, every Death Eater across the world flooed into a large clearing where the Dark began setting up their camp. They called on the giants, the werewolves, the vampires. All of their allies. The stage was set, and victory seemed to heavily favor them.

Tom sat with Michel, as the 14 year old wizard rushed about, setting up the large medical tent. He was ready, to rule the wizarding world. It was his, and Tom couldn't have been happier.

"Is it really...going to be over? That quickly?" Michel asked Tom, ready to help with the wounded, that would no doubt come in droves.

"Yes." Was his simple answer. He swept his long black hair behind him, and up. Into perfection that put Lord Malfoy to shame. He smiled at his heir and placed a hand on his head. "Watch in amazement, Michel, because it is the beginning of the new world." He gave the boy one last nod of his head and left the boy alone in the healers tent.

\-------

The battle was just as he expected it. Fighter after fighter was brought into the tent, and the healers were running ragged. Severus Snape had brewed ten thousand different varieties of healing potions, and no doubt, he would be remembered in that battle as a hero. No matter his bitter disposition. 

A few times, wizards of the light had come into the tent, to try and kill them all, but were for the most part vanquished by the Russian healers, who were all trained in combat. He could hear screams of pain, curses and hexes being shot, the sound of people dying in the field. It was awful. He was so glad that this was the last large battle. After this, the heavy fighting would stop. He was sure of it. 

"Lord Fawley! Please bring the dreamless sleep potion!" On of the witches in the tent called, after finishing with her patient. He did as he was asked and brought it to her, as quickly as he could. He noted, that they were starting to run out of pain numbing potions, and that eventually people were going to have to do without or with less.

He almost dropped the potion when he caught sight of the man laying on the bed. "H-his face!" He cried, backing up. "What happened to him?!"

"Don't worry about it, my Dark Prince, it's nothing but an enhanced stinging hex. Once the swelling goes down, he'll be fine." The woman soothed him, taking the potion away from his hands, worried that he might drop it.

Someone new was brought in on a stretcher. He was bleeding profusely from his side, and was growling in pain. There was only one person with enough piss and vinegar in him to do so while in such awful pain. Professor Snape. "Bring him to my station! I've got him!" He called grabbing all appropriate potions.

"Yes Sir!" The men carrying the man said, rushing to set him down.

'Professor! I need you to count backwards from 100, please." He said starting to preform the proper spells to path up the wound.

"99, 98, 97..." He continued on, just as Michel told him, gritting his teeth and refusing to show any weakness.

When his side was knitted to Michel's liking he put the light blue potion to his lips. A blood replenish-er. "Is that better sir?" He asked, hovering over the potions master, who resembled a cat with his fur brushed the wrong way.

"Yes, everything is just wonderful." He said, well statistically.

"How are things on the battle field?" Michel asked, wrapping a bandage around the man's midsection.

"As we expected, the Light Side is beginning to lose hope. They'll be surrendering soon." He seemed very sure of himself.

Minutes latter Michel left the man to sulk, as he was happiest doing. He bounced around the tent, doing whatever he could to help those who needed it. After almost four hours, he couldn't take it anymore and dropped down into a chair by a desk. The fighting was starting to slow down. Cries of pain became quieter. Michel laid his head on the desk and slowly drifted off for a cat nap. But a Russian healer was having none of it. He used his clip board to slap the teen upside the head.

"Vere are people dying here." He said with a heavy accent. "Get off you're lazy arse and come help."

Michel nodded in embarrassment and hurried to fallow after the abrasive man, who directed him to a new station.

The person he was treating only seemed to have a few bad burns on his back. Michel carefully lifted the man's shirt to expose the wound. "You'll live." He said, trying to make the man feel just a bit better. He left the man for a moment to find what he was looking for. He returned with a very strong burn cream. He sat down in a chair next to the cot. "Please don't move too much, I know it hurts." He placed a small amount on his fingers, then started to rub it into the man's chard flesh.

The man threw his head back and let out a wild howl of pain. Michel back up just a bit, to avoid being hit. Michel cast a quick spell that immobilized the pained man, and started applying the cream again. When he was finished he wrapped the man up in bandages and left him there laying down on his stomach.

\----------

Hours latter, they received word from the battle field. The Light had been defeated. What was left of the army had been captured when The Dark Lord had killed Dumbledore. It all seemed so anti-climactic to Michel, who had spent the entire thing in a hot tent. But now he could leave, and see what Tom was going to do with the remains of The Light.

The healers helped the ones who could move to the field just outside of the camp where Tom waited for them.

Naturally it was a sight to behold. Tom stood tall and powerful, with his enemies utterly destroyed. There could have only been fifty people left, from the almost 10,000 man army led by Dumbledore. Michel stepped forward, and took his place by Tom's side, trying not to look at the people who were so hopeless.

"Monster!" Yelled a woman with bright pink hair, that slowly turned dark red.

Tom rested his chin on the back of his hand, and let out a powerful laugh. "Now, bow to me!" He ordered to The Light fighters, mostly would not budge, but no one expected them too. "Very well then." Tom turned to his Death Eaters with a wide grin on his face. "Kill all who refused to obey me." He said, with a wave of his hand. Thirty out of the fifty were slaughtered. The other twenty were taken into custody. Michel stood there with no emotion on his face, looking down into the eyes of a very dead Harmione Granger. 'So, the ghosts of the past have come to torment me then?' He thought, as her body was dragged off with all the rest to be burned somewhere. There was going to be a large celebration.

Tom rested a hand on his shoulder. "Don't tell me you feel bad, Michel?"

"No, I'm just..." He trailed off for a moment. "I'm just a littled shocked." He said. He turned away and started walking back to the healers tent. "I have work to do, I'll see you at the celebration."


	3. Chapter 3

Michel was almost dead on his feet. He walked around his home with his eyes half closed, and his body swaying as he walked down the hall. He didn't want to attend the celebration that would take place the next night, but it was his obligation. Maybe he could convince Tom to let him skip it, but he doubted it.

He imagined the faces of all who had died that day, both from the light and the dark. Any magical blood shed was a tragedy.

He shook his head and moved faster through the hallway. He felt them, all of them, recognizing his hand in their murders. Harmione, Bill Weasly, Joan Smith, Nepadoria Tonks, Remus Lupin. With every name, he felt his breath quicken. Fudge, Black, Flich-Flechly, Finnigin, Longbottom. More and more. He ran into something and fell to the ground. He covered his eyes and backed into the corner, trying to block out their accusing faces. The angry eyes of people he knew when he was just a child, before the war had tainted him past the point of no return.

"It doesn't do well to dwell on what you can't change." A soft voice said, somewhere above him. There were two hands resting on his shoulders, then there was someone kneeling in front of you.

"You don't..."

"Understand? Believe me Michel I understand." Tom let out a breathy laugh. "Grab onto my arms." He ordered.

Michel did as he was told and with a vice grip grabbed onto Tom's strong shoulders. The Dark Lord helped him to his feet and waited until he was steady before letting go. He was being led to his room, and didn't seem to notice until he was laying on the bed, with a light blanket over his body.

"I'll allow you to leave to party after the first dances, and my toast." Tom said, sitting next to him on the corner of the bed. "Now, get some sleep, and don't forget to write in your journal."

Michel nodded and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him. Tom's weight left the bed as the Dark Lord walked to the door. He waved his hands and the candles all went out. He looked behind him and saw how peaceful Michel looked while he slept, and couldn't help his small smile.

\----------

The next morning was chaotic, as he expected it would be. He didn't have classes, because Lady Malfoy was getting ready for the party, but he was still swamped. There were still duties for him to perform after all as the new Prince of Darkness. Michel swore that it was just Tom dumping un-important paper work off on him.

He was handling requests. One lord need his wards touched up, a lady asked for someone to locate her child. 'Please the people.' is what Tom had told him, with a shit eating grin.

"Damn him to the deepest pits of hell for this." Michel growled, adding his signature to another mundane request for something someone could live without, but had chosen to bother the Dark Lord with. "I thought people would have died for asking for something so insignificant." He slammed his pen down when he was finished with the last sheet. It had taken him almost four hours.

He ordered an elf to bring him tea, and after he was finished, he dressed to the nines for the Dark Lord's dumb party. He tied his hair into a short pony tail, and wrapped in a small string of lace. The left side of his bangs had come loose, but it seemed to go well with his look, so he didn't care.

\-------

The party was in full swing, and he was waiting for the Dark Lord to give his speech so he could go and sleep for a few days. He swiped a glass of red wine when no one was looking and downed it. It burned, and did nothing to help him. In fact, he just felt worse off.

"Well don't you look half dead?" The drawling voice of Cadler Nott said, walking up behind him.

"Not in the mood Nott." He said when he saw the man.

He let out a breathy laugh. "I'd have thought you'd have been happier to see me, after all the effort I put into winning this war." He said, with a wave of his hand.

Michel bowed politely. "Thank you for murdering children." He said.

"Oh, touchy, touchy my prince." Nott wagged his finger back and forth, like he was chastising a child.

"What do you want?" Michel asked, trying to move the conversation along as fast as he could.

"To thank you, actually." 

"Yeah, whatever get lost you slimy-"

"Well my prince, and I know you'll find this shocking." Nott said. He got down on one knee, and grabbed Michel's hand, bowing his head. "But I would very much like to thank you, for saving the life of my brother. Without you, he would have died, due to the burns on his back. To repay you, my prince I swear I'll serve you, forever."

Michel pulled his hand away as fast as he could. "You idiot! You're embarrassing me!" He hissed. He looked around and saw that no one had been paying attention. "I don't want your servitude! Go away." He ordered.

"I've already discussed it with the Dark Lord and he agreed. I'll still be part of his army, but I have become your servant." He still hadn't gotten up off the ground. "You saved the person who mattered most to me. Without him, I'd have nothing left to live for, and so I will dedicate my life to you. You will be the reason that I live now, my prince."

Michel blushed, when a few people stopped dancing to watch them. "W-what?! What about your brother? Didn't you just say he was your reason to live?"

"Yes, and you saved him. So I will be completely dedicated to you, without question, for the rest of my life. I shall grant your every wish. I shall fallow your every order. I'll fallow you, wherever you lead me, my prince." With every word, he became more and more intense.

"T-that seems a little extreme." Half the ball room was looking at them now, whispering quietly. "We'll talk about this latter! Get off the floor for the love of Merlin!"

"Yes, my prince." He said, slowly standing. He was considerably tall, Michel came up to about his chest.

It was then that the Dark Lord decided to make his speech.

"Thank you, Lords and Ladies, for attending this humble gathering to celebrate our victory over the light." He began, pausing for a moment to allow the crowd to applaud him. "Yes, thank you. Now, I would like to first announce the wonderful merger of the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe. No longer shall we be plagued by wars because of divided territories. The leaders of these countries have graciously given power of these nations over to me."

Michel translated this in his mind. 'We won, so everything is mine now.'

"However, I find myself drowning in paper work" He paused so the people could laugh. "And so, Michel, will you please come up here?" Tom held out a hand and Michel slowly made his way towards his mentor with a growing sense of dread.

"He is young, but very intelligent. So, to keep myself from suffocating under the paper, I have decided to give him control over 1/5 of the territories in Europe." There was crushing silence while Michel stood there with horror in his eyes, his jaw almost touching the ground. Very slowly, people began to clap, unenthusiastically. 

Tom continued. "And as well as running 1/5 of Europe, he will inherit 1/20th of my army." Michel looked at Tom with wide and angry eyes. That would amount to almost a thousand people. This was all too much to handle for him. Damn it, he was supposed to be in school, learning and goofing off, not being handed countries and an army.

"In one week, Michel will have chosen his territories and hand picked his inner circle. So, my friends, dress to impress." With that, it was finished, and Michel was left standing there like a slack jawed moron. He left the party ten minutes latter, annoyingly so, Nott had fallowed him out.

He went to the drawing room to take a breather. The annoying man who was a self proclaimed servant apparently made a mean cup of tea. When he wasn't talking, he wasn't actually that bothersome.

"Is there anything my prince needs?" He asked, picking up Michel's plate.

"No." He said simply.

"Very well." Nott said, putting the dishes on the small cart. "I'll return shortly." He said, before taking it all away.

\----------

Tom came and found him whenever the ball was over, and when most of the guests had gone home. Michel looked at him with a slight glare. "You should have warned me." He said, crossing his arms.

"But the surprised look on your face was rather cute." Tom said, sitting on the chair across from Michel. "Nott, leave Michel and I alone to discus his sudden achievement of power." He ordered

Nott excused himself with a bow and closed the door behind him.

"You should have warned me." Michel growled again, clenching his fists at his sides.

"Watch yourself!" Tom scolded him, with a sharp tone. He sighed and leaned his head against his palm. "I know you'll be fine Michel, and if you ever need help, I'll be right there to guide you. You'll have nothing to fear." He stood and walked closer to Michel. "I'd never give you a task that I didn't think you could handle."

"But you're giving me entire countries! People's lives." His hands shook slightly. "How could you expect me to do this? And for that matter, what's wrong with you, telling Nott to become some kind of servant?!"

Tom grabbed his hands and held them in Michel's lap. "I'll be right here for you Michel. Trust me." He said with eyes more honest then they'd ever been with Michel. He chuckled a bit. "I didn't tell Nott to do anything. He suggested it himself. He came to me on his hands and knees and begged me to allow him to be the very first to serve you after you saved his brother."

Michel rolled his eyes at the thought of the murderer's strange antics. "What a freak." With the promise of help from Tom he found himself slowly relaxing.

"Have you given any thought on the countries you want?" Tom asked, trying for a light tone. "You can have any 10 you want, excluding England and Bulgaria." Tom promised him.

"Well...I've always liked Scotland." Michel said, with a teasing smile. He almost couldn't believe himself.

"Then my dear, you shall have it. Anything else yet?"

"Not at the moment." Then he seemed to hear what Tom had said, and went suddenly red. "What the hell is with all this 'my dear' crap you're saying to me."

Tom bust into laughter, his voice bouncing off the walls. "Oh Michel, don't think on it." He said, patting the 14 year old's head. He stood up to leave the boy alone and confused he turned around. "Oh, and think about who you want to be in your inner circle. If I were you I'd have seven, you can take anyone you want."

"Even Lucius?" Michel asked, convinced that Tom wouldn't part with his own inner circle.

"Michel, I'd dance around the manor in joy if that man was no longer my problem." He left then, allowing Nott back into his room.

"My prince, allow me to help you get ready for be, you've had a very long and exciting day."

"Whatever."

\--------------

The next morning Michel was woken by Nott, who was dressed like a butler. "You're kidding me." Michel said with an annoyed tone.

"No my prince, now, what would you like for breakfast?" He asked, slowly pulling the blankets down and opening the window.

"Uh..."

"Very well, I can see you're still not used to our arrangement. I'll worry about breakfast then." He bowed and excused himself.

He returned twenty minutes latter with a full plate of food. He walked over and put it on Michel's lap. "I've made the traditional English breakfast, sir. I hope you enjoy it."

It was amazing. "Where did a pure blood learn to cook?" He asked.

"I learned when I decided to become your servant. I knew you would need me."

"You learned to cook like this in three days?" He asked, hardly believing it.

"Yes my prince, I'm glad you're enjoying it." Nott said, with a flash of pride in his eyes.

Nott bathed him, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and dressed him. Every moment Michel protested and faught, but that bastard wasn't giving up. So, he stood squeaky clean, before the Dark Lord in his office.

"Are you going to rename Scotland?" Was the first question out of Tom's mouth.

"No."

"Have you given any thought as to who you want in your circle?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Lucius Malfoy and Nott."

Tom looked extremely happy and drummed his fingers on the wooden desk in celebration. "So you've grown used to Nott then?"

"Yeah, I guess I have. He'll be my second. Lucius will be third."

"Oh, he's not going to like that, being second to a butler." His grin widened. "I can't wait to tell him."

"Sadist."

"Brat."

"Very well, anyone else?"

"Crouch, Snape, the younger Lestrange brother, Draco, and..." He paused.

"Oh my, you're robbing me of my finest servants." He sighed, but didn't really seem angry. "And who else Michel?"

"He's a new recruit, just joined, the night before the battle. I don't know his name. He has long red hair, and blue eyes, but he has a mask covering his mouth. I didn't even say one word to him, but I saw the way he fought. I want him right behind Lucuis."

Tom smirked, letting dark hair fall in his eyes. "I know exactly who you're talking about."

"Who?"

"I won't say."

"I should have expected as much."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a miniature chapter because I am having writers block and I need to push this story out somehow. I promise the next update will be HELLA quicker and HELLA longer.

The first meeting he had with his new 'inner circle' was mostly Lucius trying to throw his weight around, and Nott telling him to put a fork in it. He sat back and watched them not saying a word. He eventually grew sick of it. "Be quiet." He ordered sharply at the two. "Honestly you're grown men, and fighting like children. No wonder the Dark Lord pushed you on me Malfoy." He was rewarded with a dirty look from Lucius.

"Now...are there any issues that you wish to discuss?" Michel asked, once he had everyone's attention. No one said anything. The young prince sighed and grabbed a few stacks of paper. "Write something down, anything. Then fold it up and put it in the middle, I'll mix them up and handle them one at a time."

The grown men, and Draco scribbled everything down and handed them in. Michel pulled the first one. It had an elegant scrawl that could have belonged to any of the purebloods at the table. However the message was rather rude. "I think being led by a little boy, too big for his tail coat, could be considered an issue." Nott growled while Michel read it. He set it down slowly and looked around the room, with a cold edge in his eyes.

He tossed it aside and pulled another. "There isn't many places for schooling in Europe." He sighed in relief. "Yes, _this_ is an issue. There is also the awful teaching methods that I've heard about in Hogwarts. Any thoughts?" He asked the room. Draco shyly raised his hand, so Michel called on him.

"Well...my prince, I think, as a Hogwarts student sir, that there should be more.....classes. That focus on important things." He said lamely, looking almost ashamed.

"That's a wonderful idea, Draco. Like what classes?"

"Well...there should maybe be, dance classes? Instead of muggle studies. Or old world laws and customs. They've all more of less been forgotten by  _lower classes._ " 

"Well, I can't put a student in charge of schooling curriculum, so I will handle the matter personally. I'll speak with the Dark Lord tonight during diner." 

He reached into the pile and pulled out another note. "There should be orphanages for magical children." He looked at the fancy scrawl and nodded his head quickly. "Yes, yes, I agree with this very much so."

"What's the point of that, then? We shouldn't be spending _more_ money on meaningless things." Lestrange said, crossing his arms. 

"The future is not meaningless." He simply said. "Imagine it then, all the magical children who have no doubt lost their parents to the war. They _are_ just children. Would you rather have thousands of street children, or a hundred or so orphanages?" He looked around at the snobby pure bloods and rolled his eyes. "You all are a childish lot, aren't you." He put his hands on his hips and glared around the table. "I don't actually care about your suggestions. I was just looking for the direction we could all agree on, but since you all are so _difficult_ to work with, I'm just going to decide on my own."

"Now hold on just a moment you little brat I'll have you know-"

"Crucio." Michel said, flicking his wand carelessly at Lestrange. "I own you now. I hope you realize that." He watched the man twitch on the ground, screaming for a few seconds, before lifting the curse and putting his wand away. "You're here with me, because you're either green like Draco or have displeased the Dark Lord like Lucius." He tapped his fingers against the wooden table. 

He smiled suddenly, holding his hands out. "I guess we'll just focus on social welfare then."  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of a new writer, so I'd like your opinion on how I can adjust my writing style to create a more vivid world. Please tell me what ya' think.


End file.
